Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Martin Does Fashion Week

Disclaimer: I live in fear that Dave Eggers will one day be looking at blogs in search of fresh new literary talent and he will come to Daddy Likey and it will be my big chance but the post of the day will be a Martin one and he'll end up saying "What the hell?" and leaving and giving my lucrative contract to, like, Perez Hilton instead. So if you're Dave Eggers (or if you're a newer reader and missed the Martin intro), read this first. It probably won't help at all, but I'll know I tried.

And now, on with the insanity:

Sadly, due to scheduling conflicts, school, having no money or official credentials, and being way too intimidated to even try, I could not attend New York fashion week this season. However, I am incredibly lucky to have a writer on staff who was not only free and willing, but could also fit in a carry-on. That's right, Martin is blogging from New York and he's ready with the highlights (well, more like the shiny and sparkly stuff). Take it away, Martin!

Thanks Winona. No, friends, your eyes don't deceive you; this is me at the Baby Phat show sitting just one nobody away from Britney Spears. I know she gets a lot of flack for being dirty and everything but I can tell you firsthand that she smells delightful. Like Chef Boyardee ravioli after a day in the sun. I tried to ask her if that was the scent of her newest perfume, but she just said, "Eeew! Who the hell let a raccoon in here? And how did it get a front row seat?" As for the boots on the runway, I'm not a fan. They look way too much like my cousin Jerry.

Here I am at the Luca Luca show. That was one shiny show. Everything went great until I drooled on the lady next to me and she said, "Eeew! Who the hell let a raccoon in here? And how did it get a front row seat?" Then security came and threw me in the dumpster.

Speaking of dumpsters:

If I were in charge, all clothes would look like garbage bags gleaming in the afternoon light. Perfection.